


Penultimate

by RoAnshi



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Child Abuse, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoAnshi/pseuds/RoAnshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A serious injury received while fighting youkai reminds Gojyo of another painful incident from his past. Warnings for depictions of child abuse and canon based incest implications. Nongraphic 58.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Penultimate

—and the branch could not hold his weight, and when it snapped, the ground rushed to meet him—

—or was he flying to greet it?—

—and when he hit, the pain that spiked through him despite the softness of the forest loam drove the breath from his body.

In that moment before darkness grabbed him, he saw how the red pulsing behind his eyes was the same shade as the sweat-soaked hair curtaining his face, but then another curtain dropped and everything went black.

When he came back to his senses, the stabbing pain was so intense he was sure one of the youkai they’d been fighting had managed to pin him to the ground with a sword through his hip. Except none of them had been using swords so that didn’t make any sense.

The sound of battle seemed far away, but still, he better get his shit together, get back on his feet, and pull his weight in the fight. He tried to move but agony pressed him down and pulled an inadvertent scream from his throat.

“Gojyo!” Hakkai’s voice in response to his mindless wail was sharp with something like panic. “Hang on!”

Goku now, nearby, as the monkey positioned himself between Gojyo and any threats. “Right here, Hakkai! I’ve got him.”

Gojyo tried to roll over, take the pressure off where it hurt so bad; but his head spun and stomach churned and he threw up instead.

“Fuck.” The report of the Smith & Wesson, colorful unholy profanity, the thud of a few more falling bodies, but judging by all the angry howls there were still more maddened youkai than only three of them could handle. The gunfire stopped, and Gojyo thought that Sanzo might have been reloading, but instead he next heard a mumbled chant that stirred the leaves on the trees; he felt the wind’s electric charge, and then the sutra was uncoiling and flapping through the forest clearing and all the screams and howls fell silent, save for his own.

“Gojyo!” and Hakkai, white-faced and grim, was dropping to his knees beside him, warm hands already aglow with chi skimming over Gojyo’s body. “No blood,” Hakkai said half to himself, “I don’t see any blood, something’s broken, I think….”

He wanted to joke away that awful look on Hakkai’s face, say something smart-ass and rude that would make Hakkai’s mouth quirk, pull a chastisement—“Now, now, Gojyo”—out of him, but Gojyo’s throat was raw from the puking and if he opened his mouth he might scream again anyway, plus now he couldn’t stop shaking.

A tug at his left foot, then his right, and that second tug sent a bolt of anguish right through him again, and he really didn’t have to open his mouth to scream after all. For a moment he glimpsed Goku’s guilty face as the monkey resettled himself beside Hakkai, telling him, “I got his boots off.”

“Thank you, Goku,” Hakkai replied absently. His hands were hovering now over Gojyo’s torso, brushing against his side then shifting lower, toward his pelvis. Now it was starting to hurt where Hakkai was touching him, kind of like poking stubbornly at an old bruise just to see how much it still ached “No ruptures,” Hakkai pronounced, “no internal injuries as far as I can tell…”

Sanzo suddenly crouched by Gojyo’s head, dispassion on his face, but the usual twist to his lip wasn’t accented by a cigarette. Their eyes met accidentally; Sanzo immediately looked away, muttering, “Idiot kappa, what were you doing in the tree anyway?”, but not before Gojyo thought he saw a glint of concern in that cool violet gaze.

The pain _must_ have been making him hallucinate.

“It’s his hip,” Hakkai finally diagnosed. “It’s badly dislocated.” His fingers were for once all business as he tugged at Gojyo’s zipper and then shoved Gojyo’s pants down to his knees, out of the way. For a second—longer than, probably—Gojyo couldn’t breathe, it hurt so much trying to strip away that heavy fabric.

”Is that dangerous?” Goku asked, golden eyes wide with worry.

“Very,” Hakkai said flatly, “if what’s out of place compresses his nerves—there could be permanent damage to more than just his leg if it’s left too long. Plus the longer you wait to reduce the dislocation, the harder it is to reset.” Hakkai stopped poking long enough to swipe his hands over his tunic. “We must put it back _now_.”

“Like hell,” Gojyo tried to say, but it came out like more like a choked groan.

Hakkai was giving orders now like Gojyo wasn’t even there. “Sanzo, please get a good grip on his upper body.” Sanzo made a disgusted face but obeyed, catching Gojyo under the arms, digging his fingers in against the slickness of Gojyo’s sweaty skin.

Gojyo managed through clenched teeth, voice still shaking, “Bet you’re glad I had a shower this morning, aren’t you, Sanzo-sama?”

”Shut up or I’ll put you out of everyone’s misery. And stop squirming.”

“Goku,” Hakkai went on, flexing his fingers, “I need you to take his right ankle—use both hands, please, and make sure not to twist his leg.”

“Okay.” Those careful, calloused hands as they fastened around his ankle jarred Gojyo into another half-suffocated yelp.

“Now, when I say ‘pull’—”

“We know.” Sanzo’s voice sounded grimmer than usual.

“The directions are for Goku, Sanzo.”

“I get it! Geez, Hakkai, trust me, willya?”

A pause, then Hakkai repeated, very softly, “When I say ‘pull’, you know what to do.”

Gojyo set his teeth. The heat of chi soaked into his throbbing hip as Hakkai’s warm fingers moved over that bare flesh, manipulating, kneading, massaging, those touches altering and aiding—but sometimes, somehow, even exacerbating—the pain. He tried to ride the flow, knowing that it was supposed to be helping him, but still, he couldn’t help whimpering with every press of those fingers. He screwed his eyes shut and tried not to watch; reopened them when he couldn’t bear not seeing what was happening.

Even so, when Hakkai suddenly shouted “Pull!” it took him by surprise.

Pain arced through him and he tried to fight it, tried to contort and somehow compress himself against the traction because for gods’ sake they were all tearing him _apart_ , not putting him back together, but Goku and Sanzo were too damn strong for any feeble resistance he could muster.

The heat and pressure from Hakkai’s hands worked muscle and tendons and joints and hard hard bone, and then suddenly as it all came together there was some give to his body, and with a harsh grating _snap!_ everything slid violently back into place.

And the world grayed out on him and vanished again—

 

***

 

“Mom! Mom! Stop it—don’t—Mom, _please_ —”

Gojyo’s back was against the kitchen wall and his eyes were on his stepmother as he tried to edge out of her way. But she kept blocking him, no matter where he moved and how fast, and that crazy look was on her face again as her voice rose and fell, over and over, like a chant. “W-where’s Jien? Jien! Where are you?”

“He hadda go out, Mom. He’ll be right back.” Gojyo swallowed, sidling around the chair suddenly in his way. She kept up with his motion, her hands stretching toward him. “He thought you were sleeping.”

“You d-did something to him, didn’t you? You hateful b-bad boy!”

“No, Mom, I didn’t! He’ll be right back, really.” He tried to change the subject, something that sometimes worked with her, and gave her his most ingratiating smile. “Are you hungry? Can I make you something to eat?” He hoped there was still enough rice in the cooker, after she’d slapped the bowl he’d made for himself right out of his hands. Sticky grains and shards of shattered pottery were strewn all over the floor now, tough to clean up later without cutting himself.

Distraction didn’t work this time. “You made him leave, didn’t you?” she went on, voice pinched with suspicion. “It’s because you’re j-jealous! Jealous!” She lunged at him and he feinted to the left, then tried to dodge around her. She blocked him with her entire body and succeeded in slamming him to the floor; but before she could put her hands on him, he managed to scrabble out of her way and get back to his feet.

And she was still between him and the door out of the kitchen, to the rest of the house, and escape.

At least the knives were kept locked up now—Jien had the key—and the heavier pots and pans were put away out of easy reach, so she couldn’t use those things again. But the claws on the hands she held out toward him were so long and sharp right now, she didn’t really need knives to hurt him anyway. Gojyo really wished Jien hadn’t given up on trying to keep her nails trimmed, with the lame excuse that Mom wasn’t acting so bad lately.

She came at him again; he sidestepped, just in time, stuck out his foot and hooked it around her ankle and tripped her. She went down hard, but not hard enough, and even as he darted around her she was pushing back to her hands and knees. Arms outstretched, she vaulted forward, and just as he made it through the door, she managed to catch him by his hair.

He yelped as her twisting fingers pulled him up short. “Let go, let _go_ —”

“Get him to come back! N-now! Jien! W-where are you?”

He jerked free, leaving a clump of hair behind in her grasp. Heat trickled against his scalp, running down his neck and soaking into the neck of his shirt.

“Blood!” she raged, even louder, moving faster, and he didn’t know if she was shrieking about the hank of torn-out hair still tangled in her fingers, or the red stain growing at the back of his neck. In the middle of the front room, still too many paces from the front door, she caught up to him. Now her claws sank into his shoulder, yanking him back and pivoting him around. He tried to duck under her arm, the way he’d been able to escape her before when she got her hands on him, but he was just a little too tall now, and his limbs were still awkward and uncoordinated from his growth spurt last summer.

She took him down to the ground with her desperation, clawing at him; only his clothes, and the way he ducked his head to hide his face, spared him more fierce gashes. He wrestled against her, but she when she was crazy—sick, no, _sick_ —she was stronger than he was and she finally had him pinned to the floor.

“Mom,” he breathed, panting. “Please… don’t.”

“Jien Jien Jien…” Her eyes behind the spill of blond bangs were wild. “W-where is he?”

He thought quick. “Coming through the door, Mom—look!” He stretched out a desperate hand, pointing; she turned her head and he felt her weight on him slacken just enough, and he squirmed loose and jumped to his feet. If he could only get outside, he could run far enough and fast enough, despite the darkness of the night, to escape from her, then stay well away until he saw Jien come back before he dared to return.

“You lie! You little l-l-liar!” She grabbed both his ankles, claws digging in, and he hit the floor yet again, this time with a solid thwack that knocked his breath out. “Bad boy bad boy bad boy!”

She dragged him to his feet, and, pretending, he hung limp as a ragdoll in her grasp, as if she’d knocked him out. When he felt her attention wander—when she was merely standing there, swaying in the middle of their front room, confused and wheezing—he went into a violent burst of motion, wrenching free, knowing he was leaving chunks of his skin under her claws, but you know, that wasn’t all that much price to pay if it meant he could get away. He’d suffered lots worse from her, really—

But she shouted and her ready arm shot out again, to catch him by the waist of his jeans—and there was no chance that sturdy fabric would tear and let him get away from her, not like other hand-me-downs that she’d shredded—and she somehow used his motion against him, whipping him around and slamming him against the wall.

He hadn’t fooled her at all. And now he was dazed for real, his legs weak and wobbly, and he couldn’t fight her anymore. “Stop it,” he begged, gasping, “stop it, _please_ , Mom.”

She hesitated a moment, tilting her head almost thoughtfully at him, and he dared to raise his eyes to meet hers, forcing another smile.

“Red!” she shrieked, and before he was able to draw back she got him by the throat and shoved him into the wall again. “Blood!”

The plaster cracked and flaked away where his head bounced against the wall. Then she did it again, and this time he smacked solid wood, one of the half-exposed studs that made up the house’s framework. Something felt like it gave in his skull when he slammed against it now, and his vision blurred and clouded.

One last time she smashed him into the wall. His knees buckled. With a final snarl she grabbed the bloody neck of his shirt, and flung him to the floor, into the dark corner. He managed to put out one arm to try to catch himself before he hit; instead, he landed wrong and a bone snapped as all his weight came down on it. He retched.

The breath, the fight, the rage, went out of her now. She sank to the floor, falling to her hands and knees, head hanging as she rocked. “Bad boy bad boy bad boy,” she muttered, then sagged further and curled into a tight ball.

The way to the front door—escape—was clear now, but when he tried to get up, he couldn’t. Something was wrong, really wrong with him, more than just all the cuts and the scrapes and the bruises and the bleeding this time. More than his arm—she’d broken his bones before.

His head hurt so much.

But at least Mom was quiet now, calm even. Maybe she thought she’d finally killed him, and that was why.

Gojyo tried one last time to move, but his limbs still refused to coordinate, and he would have thrown up if he got to his feet anyway. And something wet—wet and red—was trickling out of his ear. That had never happened before.

He closed his eyes, and really hoped Jien would come home soon.

 

***

“Mother.” Jien’s kind, cajoling voice—the same tone he always used when he sensed Mom was on the edge—snapped Gojyo out of his daze. Gojyo realized he’d heard the soft crunch of footsteps on the gravel outside their front door not too long before, but, drifting in and out of awareness, had somehow missed Jien’s entry.

He blinked against the dark, watching in dizzied silence as Jien—not much more, really, than a doubled silhouette—toed his careful way to where Mom still huddled in the middle of the front room. He crouched beside her and asked, “What are you doing out of bed? I thought you were sleeping.”

”Jien!” She moaned at his touch to her shoulder, uncurling like a wilted flower refreshed by rain. “You came back, you came back! Don’t leave Mommy again, please!” On her knees now, she encircled Jien’s hips with trembling arms and nuzzled her cheek against the front of his pants, a terrible, beautiful smile lighting her face.

With skill borne of long practice, Jien deftly detached her hold, shifting himself back, and when her arms came forward he caught her by the wrists and pinned her in place. “Everything’s fine now, Mother. Look at me. Did anything happen? Is everything okay?”

“Yes! Yes!” She struggled against his grip, but only mildly, a token protest. “You’re here now. Please, don’t ever leave me again with that bad boy—”

“Gojyo.” The breath left Jien in a rush. “What did you do to him, Mother? Where is he?”

“Oh. I don’t know,” she dismissed with a fresh edge of irritation. “He went away.”

Jien muttered, “I hope so,” then raised his voice to call out. “Gojyo! Hey, kid, you around?”

Through the darkness, Gojyo couldn’t quite make out Jien’s eyes, but from the angle of his half-brother’s head Gojyo guessed that Jien was checking out the room to try to figure out what had gone on. But all the damage was in the kitchen, not in the front room, which didn’t look any worse than it usually did. “I’m back,” Jien continued. “You don’t have to hide.”

Gojyo wanted to make a sound, any sound, to let Jien know that he was _right here_ , but his throat was thick and his mouth was dry and his head felt so woozy he wasn’t sure he could make himself heard if he tried.

“Don’t worry about him,” Mom snapped. “He’ll be fine.”

Jien at least knew better. ”What did you do to him, Mother? Where is he?”

She shrugged, then pointed toward the corner. “There.”

“Oh, shit.” Jien pulled away from her and scuttled to where Gojyo had crumpled. Jien reached out as if to touch him, to affectionately ruffle the crimson hair as he so often did, then stopped himself. His face had frozen into what was probably meant to be a reassuring smile, but the room wasn’t so dark, and Gojyo’s vision wasn’t so uncertain, that he couldn’t see the fear and strain that grin was meant to mask.

“Gojyo.” His brother’s voice was a little too sharp. “Hey, kid, look at me. How many fingers am I holding up, huh?”

It was somewhere between three and six, he was sure of that, but his mouth still didn’t work right and the best he could finally manage was a thick grunt.

That false smile faded to a frown. “How about you follow my fingers with your eyes, okay?” Jien’s hand moved, rapidly, and now all the fingers blurred, but he could still see claws, dozens of them, and he moaned.

“He’s fine, he’s fine.” Mom hovered, fluttering over Jien, petting him in places that she really shouldn’t have. Frustrated tears streaked her face as she tried to draw Jien away. “Don’t worry about him, don’t think about him. I need you, Jien. Please.”

“Okay, Mother.” He rose, calm and obedient; and when he led Mom to her bedroom, Gojyo despaired. But as she stepped inside, rather than following, instead Jien quickly closed the door behind her and jammed a chair under the doorknob so that there was no chance of her escaping. “You’ve got to stay in there, Mother. Just for a little while longer!”

“No!” Her rage returned that quickly, and the door rattled as she pounded on it with angry fists. “Let me out!”

Jien came back to him, his mouth a taut, compressed line, and his face so white that the youkai markings across the bridge of his nose and on his forehead were dark as India ink. He reached for Gojyo, and then the room seemed to move. No, it was _Gojyo_ who was moving; Jien had scooped him up in his arms, was striding toward the front door.

Gojyo felt as if he were floating, like a feather on the breeze, whirling and weightless. Except a feather wouldn’t hurt so much, would it?

“ _You love him more than me!_ ” Mom was shrieking, hot and furious. “You’re as bad as h-he is! Come back here right now, Sha Jien! _Prove_ that you love your m-mommy!”

Jien, fumbling with the catch securing the front door, ignored her accusations and demands, instead calling back, loud enough to carry over her strident wailing, “I’ll be back soon, Mother.” That shout grounded Gojyo, sent a fresh throb of pain through his pounding head, and he groaned and sagged heavily against his brother’s broad chest.

Jien whispered, “It’s okay, kid, we’ll get you fixed up.” Gojyo didn’t think he’d ever seen his brother look that scared before.

There was a moment’s silence before Mom called out again, and now she seemed distant and muffled, voice softer with desperation—much softer than it should have been even from the next room, even from behind that closed door. “I didn’t mean it, Jien! Come back to mommy, p-please! Don’t go away again!” Her voice broke with sobs. “D-don’t go! Why are you going? _Where_ are you going?”

His reply was grim. “To take Gojyo to a healer, Mother. I think you almost killed him.”

 

***

The youkai healer wore a limiter. “Better for getting business from humans,” she sniffed, carefully unclasping the golden choker from her throat, “but my power feels stronger when I don’t wear it. It’s the humans’ loss, after all.” She shrugged.

Claws blossomed, ears elongated through a tangle of wild black curls, and a deep blue spiral coiled around her neck almost exactly where the choker had rested. One slender thread separated from the spiral, twining up, around and finally onto her ear, its thin tip flaring there into something like a heart, on her lobe.

Gojyo stared up at her from the soft bed he’d been placed on, too scared to move if he’d even been able to. He didn’t remember Jien actually bringing him _here_ , at all, and that terrified him almost as much as the odd, looming woman and her peculiar cottage.

The room smelled strange to him, too many herbs and potions and scented oils. Bunches of bundled roots, and sheaves of dried leaves neatly wrapped with twine, were pinned to the edge of a shelf upon which dozens of mysterious, brightly colored bottles were lined up as if they were soldiers waiting for an order. A kettle steamed a thin, fragrant mist into the air that kept the room both warm and humid.

He wondered why, this late at night, her lights were so bright, and he squinted his swollen eyes against the glare until almost everything vanished into a slit-thin blur.

The healer wiped her hands on a towel, then bent over Gojyo, sharp-eyed and assessing. “Let’s take a look at you now.” The pale light flickering from her fingers swept over him, tingling, and he whined at the unfamiliar sensation and tried to shrink away from that subliminal touch. His vague, uncoordinated motion sparked a series of spasms that rippled down his limbs, and for some reason his left arm wouldn’t stop its violent twitching.

She turned her face away for just a moment, toward Jien, who hovered behind her as she worked. “Please restrain his arm,” she directed calmly, and a moment later Jien’s sweaty fingers closed around Gojyo’s wrist, stilling him with an obvious effort. All control had fled Jien’s expression, fear and need written on his face.

At last the healer drew back, her gaze still as collected and focused as when she’d begun. “His skull is broken,” she finally pronounced. Jien visibly flinched; the fingers still fastened at Gojyo’s wrist tightened. “That’s caused some swelling of the brain,” she went on. “There might be some bleeding too. It’s a very good thing you brought him in right away. He would have been dead by morning.”

”Is there anything you can do for him?” Jien hesitated, swallowing. “I mean, can you…”

“Save him?” she finished on Jien’s behalf, and the dispassion in her face was replaced by ferocious determination. “I’ll do everything I can.”

She came to Gojyo with those fierce claws extended, and involuntarily he stiffened and shrank back, despite how much moving hurt, despite how hard it was. Now his leg was twitching like his arm had, but Jien was steadying him again, holding him in place with his strength. The healer placed her hands on either side of Gojyo’s head, just above his ears, then arched her palms and flexed her fingers so that the tips of her claws pressed ever so slightly into his flesh.

Gojyo prayed that she wouldn’t dig in deep enough to make him bleed again.

Jien gave him a squeeze, forcing a smile onto that tight face. “Don’t like it, kid? It’ll be over soon, okay?” A trace of hope gleamed in his stark eyes.

Healing power gathered in the palms of her cupped hands, a concentrated glow that nearly overwhelmed the bright lamps in the room. Even though Gojyo closed his eyes against the glare, it was as if he could still see the light through his shuttered, swollen lids. Something like heat—no, more like hot, pulsing water—flooded through and into him. It coursed throughout his body, swirling along every vein until finally settling and concentrating on the worst of his hurts in his head.

It went on forever, or maybe ten minutes, he couldn’t tell. Gradually, his body untensed, the tremors in his limbs settling, and the worst of his aches eased. When he opened his eyes again as the interior glow at last subsided, the cloudiness and blurring to his vision had been driven away.

Jien must have been able to see the change as well; he reached out as before, did swipe his hand through Gojyo’s matted hair this time. “Better, kid?”

He swallowed and found words again, right where they should have been. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” His voice slid to a whisper. “Thanks.”

“There.” Sweat had beaded on the healer’s forehead while she’d worked, and now she swiped it away with her sleeve. Gojyo noticed that she looked a little tired now, and when she spoke again, her tone was lower, words somehow wearier. “I’ll need a few minutes to rest. That will give me a chance….” Curious, he watched as she selected herbs, then fussed with the kettle and a teapot to make a pungent brew. What she finally brought back to him in a sturdy mug smelled like something that had cooked too long, and maybe was about to go bad besides, and he made a face.

She ignored his expression, slipping a strong, efficient arm behind his neck and raising him enough so that the drink would not spill when he tried to swallow. Her tone brooked no nonsense. “You need to drink all of this before I set your arm, or it will hurt too much. I can’t work on the bone until I’ve put it back into place.”

Dubious, he sipped; it was tastier than he thought it would be—but not by much—so he ended up gulping it down as fast as she forced it, just to get it over with Before he’d drained the last drops, a different kind of heaviness and lassitude was sweeping through him. “You’ll feel much better when you wake up,” she started, and then Jien was saying something else to him, but by then everything was fading away, and Gojyo slept.

 

***

He awoke a while later, to a splint on his arm, a soothing compress on his forehead, and the comforting drone of soft voices murmuring nearby. The healer and Jien were talking as if he wasn’t even there, so he remained silent, hoping they wouldn’t notice that he’d awakened. He’d picked up a lot of interesting information that way; people tended to speak pretty freely when they didn’t know that a kid in bed was actually awake and listening.

“Sha Jien.” The healer’s voice, although barely above a whisper, was steely and inflexible. “You can’t let this go on.”

“I know, Miss Qing.” Jien sounded nothing like himself, shamed and apologetic. “But—”

”No buts. Everyone sees. Everyone _knows_ , Jien.” Her voice rose, just a bit. “Knows how she treats him, and we all wonder why. Gojyo is a good little boy. Sweet, even. Why does she do that to him?—treat him worse than Mr. Lao treats the alley cats back of his store. Is it because he’s _hanyou_? Does she think she’s the only person in the world whose husband cheated on her and brought home a child with red hair?”

Jien’s reply was careful. “Mother has… other problems.”

“But she tries to put the blame for all of them on Gojyo—puts it on him with her fists—and,” the steel suddenly dropped out of that chastising voice, “maybe even on you, Jien.”

“Not the blame,” he managed, “but….”

“What about you, Jien?” she probed, not unkindly. “I don’t see any bruises, but—”

“No.” The sharpness in his brother’s voice made Gojyo cringe, just a little, as he unwillingly recalled all those squeaks and thumps and moans that would come from the other room when Mom was very upset and Jien would go in with her to help her calm down. Bad enough, Gojyo thought, that he knew; Jien’s shame would be greater if the healer—a stranger—knew too.

Then again, she was smart, and Gojyo wouldn’t be surprised if she’d already guessed Jien’s truth.

“Very well,” she at last conceded, “but if you ever need any help…”

“I’ll remember that. Thank you.”

And now she was brisk again, no-nonsense. “But as far as little Gojyo, something must be done. And I wish I could tell you what, but I think only you and your brother can figure things out. Gojyo was lucky this time,” she reminded, “if you call what she did to him ‘lucky’. There are things I couldn’t even begin to heal.”

“I know, Miss Qing.” Jien’s voice suddenly thickened in a way Gojyo had never heard before. “But she’s my mother.”

“And he is your brother.”

“I know,” Jien repeated, almost inaudibly. “I know.”

Silence stretched. Finally, Jien cleared his throat, and when he spoke his voice sounded normal again. “I’d better get back home. Mother’s been waiting …well…” He quickly changed from one uncomfortable subject, to one almost as bad. “Miss Qing, I don’t know how we’re going to pay you but I promise you we’ll—”

“We’ll work something out.” She didn’t sound too distressed about potentially getting stiffed on payment for everything she had done this night. “With my business, I don’t have time to properly tend my garden or take care of the outside of the house. I need someone strong to do some jobs for me… plus someone small and agile to get into all the little places I can’t fit.”

Her hand stroked over his cheek, and Gojyo was thrilled to realize that she was referring to him. Without thinking, he smiled at how good both the attention and that gentle touch felt. Almost immediately he realized he couldn’t keep pretending to be asleep, so he went ahead and opened his eyes, knowing that they’d shut up now.

But he’d really heard enough anyway.

Jien’s tired, reddened eyes lit with relief when Gojyo turned his head toward him. “Hey, look who’s awake!”

“Yeah.” His voice was hoarse, and he felt grateful when the healer pressed a cup of cool, lemon-scented water into his free hand. “So, we going home now?” he managed in a stronger voice once he’d drained it.

“’Fraid so, kid.” Jien’s fading smile went wry. “I’ll give you a hand if you need help walking.”

“Like I’d let you carry me again.” He forced himself to sit up, but the room heeled sideways when he moved, and he pitched with it, nearly falling off the bed. The healer, her expression carefully neutral, put out her hand to brace Gojyo’s shoulder, then gently eased him back against the pillow.

“Best he stay here for the rest of the night, Jien,” she suggested with seeming ease. “It wouldn’t hurt for me to keep an eye on him, just in case he needs more healing. Besides, you’re going to have your hands full when you get home as it is without having to worry about your little brother.”

That look came back to Jien’s face, that same dark, disturbed expression that appeared after the sounds died away in Mom’s bedroom and he came out alone, to sit at the kitchen table and stare straight ahead. Gojyo felt suddenly unsettled, almost to the point of tears. Not only did he upset his mom, but now he was upsetting Jien too….

But, too quickly, that despair was masked again, by relief that might have been genuine. “That sounds like a good idea. Kid, I’ll come back early and get you. Bring you some… clean clothes.” Gojyo looked down at himself; he was still in his tee-shirt, now ripped in too many places to mend, if they could even wash the now-dried blood out of it anyway.

“Don’t get into any more trouble tonight, okay?” Jien reached out, cuffed him gently on the shoulder, then stood and just… _looked_ at him for another long moment before turning away.

The healer walked with Jien to the door. “Take this.” She pulled a small bundle from the pocket of her simple smock and placed it into Jien’s hand. “These herbs are very good for inducing calmness and regulating one’s mood. Try brewing them into a tea, and get her to drink a cup a day. It might help. Do you think you can get her to do that?”

”I’m not sure, but I’ll try.”

“Do more than try.” Her grip tightened again on Jien’s hand, folding his fingers over the little packet of herbs. “It could be your brother’s life at stake.”

“I know.” Jien turned his head, looked over his shoulder, his eyes once again meeting Gojyo’s. And now there was a promise—a covenant—there, in his deep forlorn stare, as well as a lost and terrible hardness. Without knowing why, Gojyo shivered.

“No,” Jien murmured now, as if he spoke to himself, even as he still regarded his brother. “I won’t let it happen again. No matter what I have to do.”

 

***

—and the gray haze finally cleared, and he blurted, “Mom tried to kill me again, didn’t she?”

The warm body pressed against his stirred, and a patient voice answered. “No, Gojyo.”

“Jien?” He was confused; he knew this voice too, but it wasn’t the one he had expected to answer. “Where’s Jien?” And then his scattered dreams ceded to reality and, sheepish, he coughed. “No. I’m sorry. _Hakkai_.” He mumbled it a few more times under his breath, sounding just like the fucking monkey when he’d been trying to memorize the name-change from “Gonou.”

“That’s all right, Gojyo.” Hakkai slowly uncurled from where he’d spooned against Gojyo and sat up—very carefully, Gojyo noted, probably so he wouldn’t jar the bed, and all those blossoming aches and pains really appreciated it—then reached over to smooth gentle fingers across Gojyo’s brow, brushing the curtain of hair back from his eyes.

Gojyo blinked hard, several times, then flicked his gaze around the unfamiliar room. From the otherwise empty bed opposite, Jeep lifted his head and chirped some kind of incomprehensible dragon greeting at him, but there was no sign of either Sanzo or Goku. Hakkai picked up on his train of thought and commented mildly, “They have their own room, but they’re out right now, eating breakfast.”

“Okay… Where am I again?” He didn’t remember much from when he’d passed out on the forest floor, just bits and pieces of things that might have happened, or might have happened a dozen years or so past; and he wondered if that was why he was expecting the smell of herbs, the prickle of claws against his skin, and a pain in his head instead of in his hip—which, by the way, happened to be throbbing like a _bitch_.

Huh. Weird.

Hakkai didn’t pause in his tender stroking of Gojyo’s hair. “A wayfarers’ inn, on the edge of the forest. Sanzo agreed you needed some time to heal and allowed us to check in.”

“That was big of him.”

“Besides,” Hakkai went on, and Gojyo knew just from the lilt in that one word that, if he were to see Hakkai’s face, there would be genuine amusement there, “with your hip splinted, fitting everyone into Jeep was nearly impossible. You took up so much of the back seat that Goku was forced to sit on Sanzo’s lap in the front.”

Gojyo sniggered, groggy and amused. “Sorry I missed it.”

“Just as well, I think.” Hakkai’s touch faltered for a moment, then he went back to applying that steady, loving caress to Gojyo’s disarranged hair. “Best that you managed to sleep most of the time until we were able to put you to bed—you were in a great deal of pain when you were awake.”

“Not much different from now,” he mumbled, hating to admit how much his hip, and a lot of other joints and muscles too, were hurting him; but then, Hakkai—unlike others—never used such confessions against him.

“Ah. Yes. I was afraid that might be the case. Let me work on you some more.”

When Hakkai folded back the covers and the chilly room air hit him, Gojyo realized he was naked. Not that being naked in bed with Hakkai was something that never happened, but still…. He shifted carefully, trying to check out just how much was wrong with him, especially below the waist.

Hakkai restrained him, catching Gojyo’s chin and tilting his face away. “Now, now, don’t look—you’ll just worry yourself,” he chastised gently. “Everything’s quite purple and swollen.”

“Oh,” he leered, or at least tried to, “so it’s business as usual then, right?”

“Not quite, Gojyo.” Hakkai chuckled, then released him. His hands began to travel over Gojyo’s body, assessing, testing, soothing. “Although, when you’re better, we may have to conduct whatever tests are necessary to confirm your fitness.”

“Looking forward to it….”

The hands floating down his body suddenly warmed dramatically, and heat began to flood into Gojyo’s muscles, centering on the hard pulse of pain at the crest of his hip. It throbbed for another moment when Hakkai’s deft fingers settled on the jut of hipbone, and Gojyo caught his breath and sank his teeth into his lower lip; but gradually, the knot eased and loosened, and the strain washed out of him, and away, and he relaxed.

“A hip dislocation.” Hakkai’s voice was stern and dry, but at least not cold—never cold. “That’s very hard to do, Gojyo, and also potentially very serious.” He paused, probably to give Gojyo adequate time to reflect on what he’d done. “It was very reckless to climb that high into that tree.”

“But there was a forest youkai up there. I hadda go after him before he went after any of… us.”

“Keeping your feet on the ground while you did so might have been a better choice.” Hakkai’s hands shifted, and now he was stroking Gojyo’s flank with his palms, in a way that might almost have been erotic, if Gojyo hadn’t been sleepy and aching and, much as he hated to admit it, nowhere near being in the mood.

“Hey, what’s a guy to do?” he defended. “The shakujou’s chain kept getting caught in the branches, so I hadda go up to where he was. I didn’t want someone to get hurt if I couldn’t take that dude out….”

“’Someone,’” Hakkai reminded archly, “can take care of themselves—”

“—but sometimes someone _can’t_ , and then you gotta do what you gotta do, and make it worth it.” The words spilled from his mouth before he could stop them, and now he bit his lip for another reason. He wondered what the hell Hakkai had medicated him with—something to take the worst bite out of the pain, probably, and something to help him sleep too. But whatever it was, it was worse than liquor for making him rambling and maybe even sentimental, because, after all, booze never made him speak that kind of truth. “Pretty lame excuse, huh?” he finished weakly.

“Very ‘lame’. But…” he whispered, “I understand.”

Hakkai’s hands gentled even more, to match the softness of his voice, as he painted away the last trace of pain in Gojyo’s body. And then the familiar flow of chi altered, into a healing, comforting massage, and by the time Hakkai finished, Gojyo was very nearly asleep. He felt Hakkai cover him with great care, then curl around him again, his hand returning to rest protectively atop Gojyo’s injured hip.

Gojyo stirred drowsily, mumbling, “I need a smoke.”

Hakkai didn’t say a word, just reached over Gojyo’s reclining form to the nightstand, picked up the pack of Hi-Lites and inexpertly shook out one cigarette, then placed the cigarette between Gojyo’s lips and held it there with one hand while he snapped the lighter into flame with the other. Then he counseled, “Two puffs only.”

“That’s fine… just so you don’t count the drag to light it.” Besides, that was all he wanted anyway, just a couple quick puffs before sleep. And, sure enough, Hakkai took it away after he’d filled his lungs twice, stubbing the cigarette out with great care into the ashtray on the nightstand.

He’d almost returned to painless, tranquil sleep when another thought, out of nowhere, came to him. “Hakkai? Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, Gojyo.”

“Your chi stronger when you take the limiters off?”

“Much stronger, as is everything else about my body in… that form. You know that. You’ve seen me fight.”

“No.” He yawned, but forced himself to stay awake, just a minute more. “I mean when you heal.”

Hakkai considered for a moment before his honest answer. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried.” Gojyo felt those warm and slender fingers flex against him. “Best not to, I suppose.”

“Yeah.” Gojyo considered it again. “I like your hands better this way.” He disentangled one hand from the nest of cozy blankets, groped down and back until he brushed against Hakkai’s, then clumsily laced their fingers together.

“Go back to sleep, Gojyo.” Hakkai kissed the back of his neck, those lips warm and soothing as the healing touch of chi-infused hands.

“Yeah….” And everything was blurring now, soft as smoke, thin as mist, and Gojyo slept— 

**Author's Note:**

> For my friends Ditch Gospel and Stitcher2Ficcer, whose handholding above and beyond the call of duty made the writing of this tale possible. Thank you.


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